The hall never seemed more large and oppressive than when there was naught to hear but the echoes of a tyrant's roar. Grumbitz looked longingly at the shadows, the feast tables, the dirty skins that lined the walls. Anything to hide behind. Anything to save him from the fury of his master.

"And dancing girls! Girls! Slaves in the pens!"

A generous spittle-mist was descending upon the five advisors of Sh没l-nak's court as they withstood the storm of his temper. Things had been running almost too smoothly of late; this episode was long overdue.

Girgul raised his head. "Chief, we need more fighting force bef-"

Grumbitz whimpered. "You fat boil! You coward! Worthless worm! I crush you and the skulls of your ancestors with my finger! Go out and find me them yourself! Maggot!"

His utterances ceased, and now Sh没l-nak leaned back in his throne, a thick fist stuck moodily beneath his jutting chin.

The chair he sat upon had been most likely stolen from some human noble estate, its fading filligrees and once-grand embellishments now stained and scarred from Orcish use. It was a wonder he fit in the chair at all; thick, bullish and heavy are the words that would best describe him, and the painful groans of the furniture he chose to use only agreed with those terms. And, during his outburst, the ill-fitting finery he was wearing had noisily ripped along much of his inner thigh and crotch. Had the company not feared for their lives, they might have laughed.

"Wealth," he snarled now, like a sullen child. "Make me great, you who are so smart. Let the leaders of this land know my name. Awe in it. Know it for strength."

His eyes roamed now around the dirty hall that he called his castle and his home. The rage had suddenly left him, and he suddenly looked tired - bored, almost. "Make it so, or we do it the old ways. Now go."

They left the hall at differing paces, feet scuffling over the greasy, straw-strewn floors.

"This bodes ill," mused Omurnag, the high shaman, once the assembly had beaten some of the workers into revealing their beer stash. "And he was just beginning to accept proper diplomatic measures. If he falls back into the old ways, we will surely amount to nothing."

Girgul snorted. "You told us before five times, shaman. We know how your vision go."

Omurnag fixed him with a withering stare from beneath his tattered cowl. "You would have us scrounge in the dirt and throw ourselves at the walls of our enemies and accomplish nothing. Times are changing. The world is larger than you know. There is much to be gained by learning the devious ways of the pink-skins, if only that we may crush them all the more quickly."

"I just want to go home," whimpered the human who had been randomly selected as an advisor.

"Soon," barked Omurnag. It was from this prisoner, who had been kidnapped from a passing caravan, that he had procured some interesting information regarding trading, etiquette and diplomacy. It had taken a long time to talk Sh没l-nak into accepting these 'cowardly' measures, but he had eventually come around. This was the reason for their leader's clumsy adoption of foreign customs and dress; to make the small town of Kitut Sh没l more appealing to the grand worlds of commerce and communcation. This would be a necessary step upon Omurnag's path to greatness. From a lowly seer he would rise to take his place amongs-

Varrutz, the other orc advisor, a tall-standing hunter type, thumped the shaman on the arm. "Pay attention, weakling!"

Omurnag bristled at the insult. But as things stood, he was a weakling. His grasp of magic was pitiful. The hours he had spent fasting and shaking his appendages at the moon had left him physically frail, unable to compete with the warrior caste. He had gambled on becoming powerful quickly, and it looked like a gamble he was losing. He might have become paranoid about competitors, was it not for the fact that the settlement was so miserably small.

"Now, we need idea. We need bring... progress, or else Sh没l-nak track us down and break us all. We all seen Zurutt." Varrutz referred to the severed head outside the main hall, the advisor that Girgul had been brought in to replace. Though their leader had the temperament of a child, he was a deadly and cunning warrior, and none relished the thought of failure, lest their head join Zurutt's in eternal stupefaction.

Silence descended upon the five as they watched the orcish labourers engaging in a goblin-tossing competition. Thinking in this fashion did not come naturally to greenskins, and the human was unlikely to offer up much help after the mud-brew rushed straight to his head. Yet it seemed that he might be their only hope.

Grumbitz clawed his way up the human and slapped him, his long fingernails drawing blood. "But how do you make more? How.. do you magic it?"

The human shook him off, turning to regard him with a serious expression, his tipsiness put on hold. "I... I know that tone," he began fearfully. "No. No. It is a dark magic..."

"Show us! Show us!" shrieked Grumbitz, slapping him again.

Though the man seemed to shudder and shake, it was obvious that he had no choice as the two brawnier advisors advanced upon him. "It is a dark and terrible magic," he said. "One that I know little of, and what little I know is enough."

"What is its name?" asked Omurnag, his tongue flicking greedily over his lips.

With a sad sigh, the nameless man turned to look at the innocent orc workers, who were now taking bets on how many teeth they could kick out of each other's mouths. Their lives were about to be irrevocably changed forever, probably for the worse, and it was all his fault. The word rose in his throat, and though his very being fought against it, it was a word that had to be spoken, that could not be resisted.

"Its name," he said dejectedly, "is...

...advertising."

_________________________________

Primer

Sh没l-nak is a lowly Orc chieftain attempting to modernise, to bring himself into the grand world of diplomacy, silk shirts and soft pillows. In order to make a name for himself, his advisors have decided to advertise his small settlement as a popular holiday resort slash refined diplomatic retreat. They've lied to make it sound far more attractive than it actually is.

What you need to do is write an account of your visit. Maybe similar to how you'd leave a review of a hotel or a restaurant, or a travel writing entry. As much or as little detail as you'd like. You can use the characters in the story (within reason) or just make up something entirely your own, from any kind of perspective. Disposable characters are usually more fun to play with.

The town

It's a muddy, hilly town populated by a hundred belligerent greenskins. Your lodgings are probably awful, the goblins will try to steal from you, the orcs will bully or attack you, and if you're really unlucky you might run into one of their bigger cousins. Imagine the worst holiday you've ever had, and then fill that place with greenskins. You get the idea.

Prizes

As I said, I can't really offer much in the way of prizes other than an internet high five and the knowledge that someone appreciated your work, but maybe someone else might step in to offer something if any entries really stand out? It's not really about the winning, anyway, I'm just more curious to see if any of you Illyrians can make me laugh.

The first thing I noticed as I walked through the gates of... well whatever the Orcs call this place, was a Orc glancing at me, as if I had no business in... lets just call it Fairyland. He, whilst staring me down, seemed to be glossing the inside of a head, which coming from the south, seemed rather strange. Another Orc, probally 7 foot tall approached me.

"Come, short man!" he bellowed.

"I am no man, but a dwarf." I replied calmly.

"You come to hotel room now."

Rather starteld I followed the man to my room. Over the next few days I had a great time in Fairlyland. Everyone was kind. I give it 5 stars. The accomidation was amazing, and I really loved all the food. It also had a great party scene with lots of nightclubs. It was the best experience of my life and I already have the flights for a return visit booked. I suggest you visit fairyland as soon as possible. I also need to give a shout out to Shul-Nak who was very nice.

IF YOUR READING HELP!!

They have me locked in a room, and I have to write this. I'm lucky they can't read or they would kill me. They tell me to only write good stuff, or I have my head lopped of by a poorly crafted spear. Please come to this terrible place and save me. Everything good was lies...

My incessant need to get off the beaten track is well-known. Having visited Macchu Pichu, a hidden tribe in the Amazon, New Jersey, I wanted something new. Something different. And then I saw the smallest ad right at the end of the obituaries with the worst English I'd ever seen and I knew, I KNEW, this was where I needed to go next.

As I write this, I am on a cart driven by a small scrawny green goblin, who has a somewhat feral smell to him, to the Orc settlement of the Court of Sh没l-nak. I am nervous and excited to see what is in store. I hope the vaccinations I had weeks ago are enough.

I have discovered a marvel, a kingdom led by orc but am held prisoner for there lord sh没l-nak. They have waited centuries to rise and are now finally strong enough. We must stop them! Our only hope to survive relies on you. You must venture through places where no one has gone before battle fierce creatures if we are to make it through this time of darkness.

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